


Pick-Up Fines

by teekuppi (posket)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posket/pseuds/teekuppi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seb gets pulled over by Rocky the policeman for speeding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick-Up Fines

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 16th 2014 on [tumblr](http://moderncouchpotato.tumblr.com/post/94895838545/38-sebrocky-this-is-perfect-for-this-pairing). Prompt: cop/person getting a speeding ticket au

“I wasn’t speeding,” Sebastian says immediately when he’s pulled to the side of the road and the cop just stares at him through the window. “Honest,” he adds, squirming.

“Hmm,” the cop says and starts writing his speeding ticket anyway. Sebastian’s face falls.

“Okay, maybe I was speeding a little bit…”

The cop snorts.

“Or maybe a lot…”

The cop gives him a look. “You were forty over the speed limit, mate.”

Sebastian flushes. “It was a motorway.” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It was empty.”

“Still doesn’t matter.”

“I’m German.”

The cop stops writing and blinks at him. Sebastian blinks as well. “That wasn’t supposed to come out,” he says.

The cop shakes his head in amazement and Sebastian is about to slap himself on the forehead, when he notices the cop smiling. Actually  _smiling_. It makes him look a whole lot less intimidating, and his dark stubble really suits him now that Sebastian notices it. He quickly has a rethink.

“You know, Germans…” he gives the cop his best cheesy grin, “we like to drive fast? On the autobahn. No speed limits. Vroom vroom.” He mimes a steering wheel.

The cop looks at him like he’s stupid.

“…but we’re not in Germany here,” Sebastian finishes lamely.

“No,” the cop confirms, but he’s smiling again.

Sebastian brightens. “I’m Sebastian. Or just Seb. You can call me Seb.”

“Sebastian,” the cop repeats, and holds his hand out with no hint of his previous amusement. “Drivers licence and vehicle registration, please.”

Sebastian huffs. “Yeah that really kills the mood. Good one, killjoy.”

The silence is arctic. Sebastian timidly hands over what’s requested and the cop starts checking out his details. 

“I’m a racing driver as well,” Sebastian says in a small voice, “I know how to go fast. I have good car control and I wasn’t going to crash. I’ve been driving since I was three.” The cop lifts an eyebrow. “In karts,” Sebastian quickly amends. “Just karts. What, did you think I could reach the pedals in a car?”

By this point he’s no longer even thinking of slapping himself on the forehead, his mouth just keeps opening and he keeps digging himself into a deeper hole. He sighs. “Look, it’s not like I’m a crazy person, or I have no idea what I’m doing, despite what you might think—”

“I think you make too many excuses,” the cop comments, “and you talk too much.”

“But you like it,” Sebastian counters, and the hole he’s dug himself into grows a little deeper. His face colours red. “Well.”

The cop smirks and tears off the speeding ticket, folding it and handing it to him along with his licence and registration. “Here, mate. All yours.”

Sebastian wilts. “You’re not letting me off?”

“Why would I do that?” the cop says casually. Then he leans in close and adds, quieter, “Make sure you read that ticket before you throw it out, all right?”

“Um,” Sebastian begins, but the cop is already going back to his car. He gives Sebastian one last look before getting in and driving away.

Sebastian unfolds the ticket with a sigh, seeing what he did wrong (171 km/h, that’s not that bad, is it?) and how much he has to pay, and he grows more despondent by the second. He hunches down and hugs himself, wishing now that he hadn’t taken his frustrations out on the road. It was just another blind date gone bad, it’d happened to him so many times before that he’d long lost count.

Then he notices the scribbled phone number at the bottom and the message to go with it. He frowns, slowly making it out. 

_Rocky. Call me if you’re interested. I like that you talk too much. (But there’s no way you’re getting out of paying your fine.)_

Sebastian sniffs and chokes on laugh. He reads and re-reads the message, in shock, and scrubs at his face.  _Rocky?_  Somebody who could possibly like him? A cop with handsome manly stubble and dark hair and dark eyes who’d just fined him a fortune on the spot and told him he liked that he talked too much? Sebastian laughs, not sure whether to believe it, and then he can’t stop laughing.

He tips his head back to look at the sky, and for the umpteenth time he dares to hope. 

 

 


End file.
